


7437

by froofie



Category: Benedict Cumberbatch - Fandom, Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Heartbreak, Sadness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-27
Updated: 2013-07-27
Packaged: 2017-12-21 11:53:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/900008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/froofie/pseuds/froofie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PWP.<br/>Comfort sex from Sherlock Holmes (BBC)</p>
            </blockquote>





	7437

**Author's Note:**

> This is my version of Sherlock, not canon. I sort of imagined him as a bit of an angel who comes down to help me get over someone... you know, sexually. As you do. :)  
> (Not beta'd, if there are mistakes, let me know)

“He’s disappointed you.”

A sliver of light fell on the bed beside me as he came in the dark bedroom from the lit hallway behind me. I watched his shadow slide up the wall. I looked up, a tear fell and joined the wet stain on the pillowcase under my head. His voice was low and deep, a dark lullabye.

I nodded.

He stepped in further, still in his coat, taking off his gloves. His entire presence permeated the room. I turned on my back and looked up at him. There was a curious air of tenderness under his black curls and furrowed brow.

“You think you’re not worthy because his current choice of women is different from you.”

“It’s irrational, I know.” I slung my arm over my swollen eyes and sniffled.

“And yet it still bothers you. Why?” He took off his blue scarf, hanging on the doorknob.

“I’m so tired of wanting what I eventually come to find is something I can’t have. Or don’t deserve.”

“What do you want?”

I started to answer.

“No, let me guess.” He released himself from his heavy black coat, tossing it over a chair in the corner. He sat on the bed beside me. My body tilted towards him as the mattress sank under his weight. I wiped my eyes.

“You want to feel loved by someone you love back.”

I started to well up again. I couldn’t answer. I could only nod more. I closed my eyes, almost too concentrated on a tear falling down my face to notice he was brushing fringe from my forehead. I breathed and looked up at him. One side of his face was smiling. He was studying me.

“You want to be touched and you want to touch someone out of love. You think it would feel good to be touched by him like that.”

“Yes.” I swallowed. His long thumb wiped at my wet cheek. He lift up his hand in front of him, running his fingers together in examination.

“You want to know you matter. To be shown you matter. You think he’ll show that to you.”

More tears. More wiping.

“You want to be seen by someone you trust. You think he will see you. You think you’d feel safe showing yourself to him.”

“Yes.” He moved on from my cheek and cupped his hand under my jaw. In the throes of emotion and overwhelmed by my own truth being exposed, I didn’t feel him lean down. I barely felt his lips on mine. They were dry and warm. I accepted his advance. We were both unusually delicate. It never occurred to me that he wore cologne, but I breathed it in off his skin. He opened my mouth with his, our lips hovering close. He tasted like coffee. He stopped to concentrate. I finally felt that he had unbuttoned my blouse half way down already.

“You think he won’t be able to make you feel that way anymore,” he kissed under my jaw, “and you want to still believe in the possibility.”

“He seems different now.”

“You want him to be...better.” His hand smoothed up my thigh, hiking up my skirt. I bent my knee and caressed his hand with my leg. He went higher and cupped me.

I huffed out in the affirmative as his sucking made a mark I would find later on my collarbone. My “yeses” were becoming less about answering a question and more a response to his touch. My blouse opened in ceremony at my sides. He stood up, shifted out of his sleek black suit jacket and unbuttoned his purple shirt, gazing down at me. I felt like a patient. I regained my wits a bit.

“Why are you doing this?”

“I know what it’s like to hope and to fall. You should have a soft place to land.”

“Thank you.” He kicked off his shoes and socks, sat back on the bed and kissed me again, lips now wet. I held my hand over the one he had on my cheek. Whatever usually kept us from being this open with others vanished. Something natural drove us forward. There was an ease, a safety and a rightness. Eventually, I moved his hand to my breast where he caressed me over my bra.

“What do _you_ want?” I breathed out, staring at the ceiling, as he feathered his lips over my cleavage. He didn’t answer.  I eventually forgot the question. He took off his shirt, crawled between my legs and kissed all along my waistband. He shifted me out of my panties. His soft black tendrils of hair curled around my fingers. My legs bent up on either side of his head. I sucked in a breath as his mouth went over me. My fingertips lightly dug and pawed at his scalp. I pulled at his hair. He didn’t seem to mind. Or notice.

“You’re already so wet. Do you want to...?” His shiny blue eyes darted back and forth between mine, studying, searching for an answer before I could give it.

I sat up and took off my shirt and bra.

“Do you?”

He answered by unzipping his pants. I started to move towards him, to give to him what he gave me but he stopped me. Instead he took off my skirt and kissed me back down to the bed. He stood and removed his tailored trousers and black boxer briefs.

We were naked. Innocently, beautifully naked. Together. His cock full and ready, my heart beating hard in my chest. I ran a hand over my breasts and with the other, invited him back to me. He laid his whole body over mine. His intention to give washed over me. For once, I was open to taking. Our kissing escalated. Hands rubbed through hair, forcing the other’s mouth down and hard against the other, breath heating over skin, slick tongues tripping around lips and teeth. His hands felt down my body. I shivered and opened more under the skimming of his fingertips. I spoke of my readiness by grinding his heavy cock against my hip over and over, moistening our pressed flesh with his abundant precome. Somehow we managed a condom and finally, slowly, he was in me. He returned to covering my body with his. His ability to comfort me felt as if it came from a place of comforting himself as well. I felt protected from the world, from myself, my thoughts. I wept a bit more at how good he was at being there for me, at how much I didn’t know I wanted that. I whispered a “thank you” into his ear. He buried himself in deeper, deliciously spreading me.

He could not completely stop me from giving back. I wrapped my limbs around him in gratitude. I kissed him. I touched as much of him as I could. I held him inside me. I thrust back. We received one another’s embrace like dry sponges tossed into the ocean. We moaned together, which fueled our rising fire. His own desire took hold as he found a pleasing rhythm. I followed his lead. I found I had more to give. His body shuddered, his face hot, mouth open, eyes slammed shut. I pressed against him one last time. He cried out and tried to kiss me.

Inspite of further action on his part, I never came.  
This time, I didn’t need to.  
I felt loved and deserving again.  
I was back in my own heart.

He nestled us under the covers, spooning, as the sweat that cooled our once hot bodies started to make us shiver.

“How did you get all that from me just crying in bed?” I directed the question over my shoulder.

“I read your text messages.” His heavy timber resonated down my back. His vast hand spread out on my belly. “You should think about protecting your phone better. I know a really good password....”

**Author's Note:**

> I found comfort in writing this. It's the first time I've written about Sherlock (and the first time the author never comes)  
> It came from a mild daydream I had. I wrote this for myself. If you enjoyed it, too, wonderful.


End file.
